Life, I love you, all is groovy

I'm about to get ready for Easter dinner at my grandmother's house. In a way, I wish we could do this over the phone. Hey, conference calls aren't such a bad thing. Ah, but it will be good seeing the family face to face.

Started feeling better yesterday; today I feel hale. It was a rough week, but at least I was better for part of the weekend. I was hoping to see Sean play in Union Sq. on Friday, but it wasn't to be. Every nerve ending on my face was alive in hot fury, my skull locked in perpetual ice cream headache. An ugly cocktail. With all due respect to Sean's fine music, it would have been a painful experience for me.

I did, however, get out of the house for a bit that night. Kagemusha was playing at the Brattle. One of Kurosawa's quieter films, I figured that, coupled with being in a dark theater, my condition wouldn't be adversely affected. Mara had free passes, so away we went. When she found out the film was three hours long, she had second thoughts about going. As much as I wanted to see the epic on a big screen, I wouldn't have minded too much if she decided not to go. I just didn't want her to resent me for dragging her to a movie she found to be too long and utterly boring.

She was a trooper, though, and, somehow, she made it through the entire film without falling asleep. She enjoyed the film. I was impressed. I was equally as impressed that I didn't fall asleep, given my condition. Credit Kurosawa for constructing an engaging, albeit challenging, film. And credit also the theater for serving coffee.
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Got some new recording gear yesterday and spent a good chunk of the day fooling around with it. For those of you who care, I got Tascam's DP-008 pocket studio. So far, I absolutely love this unit. I recorded a song with six tracks yesterday without plugging in a mic. I used the two built-in condenser mics and, I must say, I was pretty impressed with the result.
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It's been several hours since I finished that last paragraph. The day went by quickly. I am tired. In retrospect, I could have done without going to my grandmother's house. I was a marginal figure there. I don't have a family of my own, no wife, no children. Besides my cousin Brian, I'm the only one in that position. It was nearly impossible engaging anyone in a conversation because of all the inherent activity involving the children. I'd be halfway into a sentence with someone, and one of the kids would need their attention or someone would need help reaching for a plate in the cabinet. Or something. Always something. End of conversation. I eventually just sat down and played Centipede on my phone. That lasted about ten minutes until the realization struck me that I could be spending my time in better fashion at home. So I left.

At home, I joined Janelle's Easter gathering in progress. Foley stopped by shortly after I arrived and, after hanging out for a bit, he and I went out for some coffee. We sat on a bench in the mini park situated at the hub of the Powder house rotary. It was good hanging out with him; hadn't seen him in a while. And the weather was glorious.

Later, I watched the last part of The Human Condition. What an experience that was, the whole epic. Very, very moving. Samurai Rebellion and Hara Kiri came in the mail on Saturday. They'll be watched soon. Kobayashi has become one of my favorite film makers.

I attempted to do some recording. Didn't get much done. I'll try again tomorrow.
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At work Friday, Sharon told Therese and me she'd been dying to tell us something. Sharon rarely initiates conversation, which is not to say she's not social. She's just usually on the receiving end of conversations. I'm fond of Sharon and, if it were pretty much anyone else, I'm not sure I'd trust the veracity of the story she told us. Readers, I'll leave it to you whether you believe what I'm about to share with you is a bunch of hogwash or not.

From Sharon:

"So the other day one of my friends was at work and she got a call from her son. He was animated. ' Mom, mom -- you've got to come home!! Please, please, come home!' Her son is mentally disabled. He's a real big guy, probably in his early twenties. My friend tried to get him to tell what was wrong, but he wouldn't say. He just kept telling her to come home.

Worried for his safety, she dropped everything and rushed home. He was at the door when she arrived, beckoning wildly for her to come inside. She was barely through the door when he took her arm and led her to the closet. 'I caught the troll, mom! I caught the troll!', he said. My friend had no idea what he was talking about. He said again: 'I caught the troll, I caught the troll!'. His tone suggested what he'd done was a fine, and not easily accomplished, feat.

My friend opened the closet door, expecting anything other than what she found: a midget! There was a little guy standing in the closet! My friend's son had apprehended a midget! (At this point in the telling, Sharon is uncharacteristically laughing uncontrollably. Almost as funny as the story she was telling)

Apparently, this man was going door to door -- he was a census taker -- and my friend's son, who, like I said, is a big guy, grabbed him, thinking he was a troll!"

Needless to say, I wasn't expecting the story to end up there. I figured there would have been a doll or even nothing in the closet. I was not expecting a Lilliputian to be found within its depths. I had questions. How long was the man held captive? Was he terrified, angry? Did the police get involved? Are you sure your friend wasn't pulling your leg?

Sharon was only able to address the last question. No, she said, her friend is not the sort to tell tall tales and, if she was, they wouldn't be at the expense of her son. The story does sound far fetched, but it's not implausible. There are little people roaming about and there are people with mental issues who might misidentify said little people. As I stated above, I don't think this story was the product of someone's imagination. Still, I'd love to find out more about what happened. That poor little guy -- at the very least, he must have been terribly embarrassed. Unless, of course, this type of thing happens a lot more than anyone realizes. Maybe it's a phenomenon. I'll have to look into this. You may want to as well, readers.

So there you have it: another post, another day.